There's something about coffee shops; the ambiance, the vibe of the staff and patrons, and the overall aesthetic that affects you as you walk through the door. You somehow feel at peace because the air in the building is a calm and smells like freshly ground coffee beans and the, surprising, freshly baked bistro products.

The tables are perfectly in place, creating an OCD-satisfying appeal with clean lines across the room, chairs are pushed in for clear pathways, and the floor is spotless. The lights hanging from the ceiling are modern-contemporary that add a certain sophistication to the room, despite the fact that they don't provide adequate light. However, the natural light beams through the large windows that spread from ceiling to floor, giving the coffee shop the appearance of a bright, open floor plan. Industrial ceiling lamps with modernized covers are sporadically located above patrons' heads to provide a soft, yet workable light after sunset; a sunset of which is visible in almost every direction, thanks to the convenient location and the freshly cleaned windows.

As you walk through the front door, you're greeted by a cheerful, small bell attached to the top. As the bell's high pitched chimes resonate in your eardrums, you gaze at your surroundings and wonder where all the pictures were taken; maybe question the camera that captured the crisp lines.

When you finally reach the counter, you're greeted by a welcoming smile, though slightly gritted because the barista's replacement is a few hours late. This simple, yet relatable, realization reminds you to not add to the burden, but to smile back in a way that you say 'I understand' without actually addressing it.

You are then distracted by all the freshly baked items on display. You know because you could smell all the scents that crept their way through the kitchen door that are intertwining with the smell of ground coffee beans, almost in a balanced fashion. Though the smell and appearance of them tempt your taste buds and sweet tooth, you know to try to be healthy. You order their Grilled Chicken Caesar Spinach Wrap from their designated "favorites" menu, then contradict your "healthy choices" with an Iced Caramel Macchiato with extra shots of vanilla.

As you search for the perfect table, you process more of your surroundings: the seemingly overworked college student crouched in the corner, of whom has his head buried in the summer assignments sprawled across his table; the intern designer that is preparing her next presentation for her unappreciative bosses in the adjacent corner, of whom you look over her shoulder and complement the work even though it isn't necessarily your taste of decor; the young hipsters, clad in designer clothing, are sitting near the front door that are discussing fine works of literature while they drink the most expensive beverages on the menu, all while they claim to be part of the "oppressed"; and the old couple sitting in the middle of the room, of whom are holding hands and smiling as they talk about their new great-grandchild.

During your scan of the room, you spot your perfect table like the rest of the patrons; the one beside the separation wall, lined with more crisp photographs that are smaller than the others to fit the area. At eye-level, but above your head as you sit, are plastic succulents set in decorative pots that match the ambiance of the room.

The lone-barista brings your coffee first, setting the glass on the table gently while still clad in that empty, ever so slightly gritted smile. 'Your meal will be out shortly', she says, almost afraid of what your reaction will be. You thank her with a gentle smile as she rushes back to the kitchen.

You open your laptop in hopes that you'll be inspired to write, something relatable, yet decent and hopefully descriptive. You're inspired by the stressed-out college student, the underappreciated intern designer, the privileged hipsters, and the loving old couple. You get on a role with nonrhythmic clicking when you're interrupted by the overwhelmed lone-barista. Still, you're excited to see your food and proud of her for managing some type of consistent smile- though this time, it seems more genuine. You thank her graciously with an encouraging smile, to which she nods and returns to the kitchen. You ultimately come to the realization that her slacking co-barista finally arrived based on the voice echoing through the shop, frantically apologizing; meaning your barista was able to relieve her work-stress by returning home to the pets that you noticed on her lock-screen upon your first encounter.

You're happy for her and notice the old couple shares your feelings as you notice their eyes directed toward the kitchen window. They notice you and smile back in acknowledgement. You return your gaze to your laptop screen and resume the nonrhythmic clicks of your keyboard that were interrupted by your semi-healthy meal choice, that you soon learn is almost worth the price. You sip the health-contradiction of a beverage that you ordered, allowing the coffee with vanilla and the chocolate and caramel drizzle accompaniment to glide across your palette and sink down your throat.

The nonrhythmic clicking will soon reach its end as you take the last bites and sips of your meal. You start to gather your things and place them in an orderly fashion inside your Barnes and Noble bag that reads, "if you think reading is boring, you're doing it wrong". You tidy up your table so it will be an easy clean-up task because you know what it's like to clean an area that appears to be a victim of a natural disaster.

The clicking of your keyboard ceases in response to the completion of your piece. Your table is neat, you slide your arms through the sleeves of your light jean jacket, and you place the weight of your belongings on your shoulders.

As you make your way to the door, you travel through the various scents that manage to creep up your nostrils. The scent of the pretension that lingers in the air manages to soak into the clothes that expose your average lifestyle. Yet, you don't mind this scent of pretension. The scents of freshly ground coffee beans and baked bistro products that you inhaled as you walked in the door has now clung themselves to you.

Not only do you feel refreshed and accomplished, you smell like the lifestyle you secretly yearn for.

...despite the fact that you wish the numbers on the price-tags were a little smaller.

As you exit, the small bell chimes again; this time, cheerfully encouraging your return.